where are, my love, you going,

where are, my love, you going,
now, September winds bring a violent chill
but summer’s sun fights hard on for you!
and you hear the ringing metal singing,
it quells the cracked and thirsty silvered swords of time—
a signaling for beauty’s eye
in every shimmering flair, golden,
you toss the air about with your looks
and send me whirling, unforgiven:
earth shifts blood and makes milk out of our rage,
a moiety of star crossings, like dolphins in the deep;
the rhyme is so long-stretched between us,
yet it’s warming, your word’s wide embrace.

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